


pull me out the train wreck

by pflaume



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, i forgot how to tag im sorry, i like that boy, its a drabble so i cant elaborate, jeongcheol - Freeform, jeonghan is a libra and has issues he has to sort on his own, there are no tears i will assure you, this is cliche u know what happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28948296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pflaume/pseuds/pflaume
Summary: “My hope is if we add up the "one mores" they will equal a lifetime and I'll never have to get to the part where I let you go.” - Something Great
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	pull me out the train wreck

**Author's Note:**

> hi i have a drabble! purely self-indulgent and cliche because im a mess and i miss writing.

The thing about finding home in people is that there's always a premise of losing yourself in between — a “who are you?” when the bags get all packed; a “who was I?” before he swept you off your feet and called you his own; a “who will I be?” without him waking you up in the morning because you're too exhausted to cook yourself breakfast.

The thing about falling in love with the dimpled-boy and kind eyes is that it comes with the promise of a heartbreak. True, it gets blind-sided by the way he tucks that single askew strand of your hair in your ear or with how he gravitates and looks at you when everyone in the group is laughing out loud to some silly joke you were too distracted to tune into. But it looms in there, always there.

And Jeonghan knew. Jeonghan knew the moment he stepped into his bestfriend's dorm room, stretched his hand out and introduced himself as Choi Seungcheol, with his calloused hands and pink bright nose. It was a cold day in August 9, 2016 and he was hungover for some reason Jeonghan didn't knew yet that day.

But who was he to dictate himself, really? Where Jeonghan was guarded and aloof, Seungcheol was open, spread out like he wears his heart on his sleeves; like he offers home to people who have been lost for too long—Jeonghan.

And now here he was, struggling to dial in the all too familiar number before he passes out in the cold streets of Gangnam. Joshua has taken the first cab home, after he insists that he was older and that it is only proper that he gets to see his _dongsaeng_ get home safely.

“Jeonghan?” The call picks up, static runs through the lines as if the person on the other end is having a difficulty with his duvets. _Oh, he must have called the wrong number._

But who was he kidding? Even in a sleepy whisper he'd recognize him; even when he's shitfaced drunk in the middle of an unfamiliar street in his club clothes — he probably won't remember this conversation again — he'd recognize his Seungcheol so he smiles in a stride, heart beat picking up more than the alcohol has made it earlier. “Cheol, I'm so drunk,” he giggles and he probably sways on his own feet, he doesn't know. “I've had fun. I'm on the way home now.”

“Be safe. Are you gonna be crashing in Seokmin's place again?” The voice Seungcheol is using is sweet, placating. This reminds Jeonghan that he's parched; that he should have taken the last vodka bottle home. The lights in the subway albeit being 2 AM in the morning burn in the back of his eyes. The last civilians in the station stare at him like they're nitpicking him from head to toe.

“I guess.” Jeonghan wonders if Seungcheol is in their apartment, maybe making tea for himself while he waits for Jeonghan to fall asleep safe. Their dog could be in his arms, cradled like a sweet daughter to Seungcheol. He stops and chews on his lips, “Are you in—”

“Daegu. I'm in Daegu, Hannie.” This is where the dread drops; the looming fear that stares at Jeonghan from a distance closes in.

He's in love. He's so in love it hurts to even breathe, like Seungcheol's gonna disappear in thin air in any second so he scrambles for purchase, holds onto his parka and wraps himself with it. “Will you be back in Seoul tomorrow? We could get breakfast together. I miss you.”

“You're the only reason why I still go back to Seoul, baby.” Jeonghan holds onto himself harder; as if the ground would suddenly open up and swallow him whole. He doesn't know why he subjects himself to this same scenario over and over again—a reopened wound rubbed with salt. “But we broke up. Six months ago, remember? You told me you were bored. That I was too nice for you.”

It's wet, water drips freely down his white-washed jeans but Jeonghan wasn't sobbing. The pain that sits on his chest finds a forever home in that gaping hole that he doesn't even have to push it out. It just sits there and smiles at him like a Cheshire cat.

“So you don't have to update me like always. It's not.. it's not my job anymore.”

“You know I did not mean that, right?” Jeonghan brokenly whispers; that maybe if he raised his voice higher in that deserted station, he'll break a piece and crumble to the ground like a mess.

He supposes it will hurt; that one day he’ll sit down his bath tub, distracted. The water around him will burn his skin but he won’t notice it; not when there’s pain akin to a splinter lodged inside his nail. He’ll pass it as a minor damage but he will think about it all day. It won’t let him paralyze him. He will subject himself to his routine from breakfast until getting home from work, but that’s only until then.

When he gets home, he will cry this pain out under familiar duvets and through restless nights. Jeonghan will ignore the clear absence that’s cluttered behind a missing toothbrush, a forgotten lip gloss under the bed and a faulty cabinet door but it will haunt him when he’s alone, tucking himself to sleep without the same warmth he was so familiar with.

He would cry in broken stutters and breathless sobs. He would let himself consume the pain all over again so he can wake up and ask for one more breakfast.

The thing about finding home in people is that Jeonghan has always told himself he's bound to leave, that he's required to escape before the tendencies of pain gets under.

“Cheol?” He continues, an unsaid sentence. _I'm sorry._

“It's late. Hurry and get home.”


End file.
